Reflecting on being the adult daughter of a narcissistic mother, and trying to break the cycle for my own children.

mad

I'm pissed, and I'm not sleeping.

My mother, my childhood, my extended family has been on my mind every day this month. I'm sure it's one part holiday-family-mindfuck, one part normal ACONness, and a bunch of other parts of other things all tossed in for good measure.

Even while I feel happiness for making the choice to end contact with my mother and father, even while I revel in how good life is without the two of them and their shame parade, there has also been a bitterness brewing inside me. Something I learned tonight put a torch to the whole bitter pyre, and now I'm awake and seething about it.

The lovely message at the top of this post is the FUCK YOU that I never mailed to my mother. It festered in my head for many months, and finally I grabbed a sharpie and some paper and wrote them out. First they were simple line letters, then they became block letters, and then they grew curlicues. A fancy fuck you. Fuck you very nicely! Fuck you very much, y'all don't come back now, y'hear?

It made me smile, and I took the paper and stuck it in a journal. I later glued it in. When I'm feeling especially ticked off, I think of those embellished, bold, black letters and raise a middle finger to my FOO. Tonight, in my ire, I scanned it and added a frame. It's a Formal Fuck You. I'm fantasizing about mailing it, or creating yard signs, or putting up a billboard, or hiring a skywriter. Yeah, a skywriter.

Tonight I'm feeling MAD.

MAD that my mother won't leave my family alone.

MAD that my oldest brother said cruel things to me six months ago, things that were totally planted in his head by my fucking mother. MAD that he hasn't spoken to me since, even the one time we ended up in the same restaurant together. MAD about the way my mother played her children against each other, so that they have evil pictures in their heads of each other.

MAD that my mother cries her crocodile tears to whomever will listen, and MAD that they actually believe her.

MAD about the times my sister-in-law has told me how sad she feels for my mom and my dad, who really do love me and miss me. MAD about how weakminded she must be to fall for this shit.

MAD that none of my siblings seem to remember the times when they were the black sheep.

MAD that in a huge extended family, I don't feel like I can trust anybody except maybe my sister.

MAD that the habits I learned from my mother as a child make it so fucking difficult to be a patient, loving parent. MAD that I have to work so hard to do something that should come naturally.

MAD that she has the audacity to come onto my property. A little MAD that I didn't know she was there at the time, because I totally would have called the cops on her ass.

MAD about all the time and energy this emotional crap takes - time that could and should be spent on other things.

MAD that my lasting legacy from her is anxiety and depression, for which I take medication. MAD that the medication feels necessary for me to be a kind and engaged wife and mother.

MAD that she didn't deal with her own family shit, and instead handed it down to her kids.

MAD that I'm alone, the only one of her five kids who GETS IT, while the rest still do their adoring mommy-we-love-you-so-much routine.
MAD that this is SO UNFAIR.

And tonight, I'm MAD for one more reason. I'm MAD that she had the audacity to send my in-laws a Christmas card containing a woe-is-me letter. MAD that she's crying her sob story, "apparently I'm forbidden from seeing my grandchildren", to these people who ARE NOT HER PEOPLE. MAD that she is such an inappropriate bitch. MAD that she treats my children like her possessions. MAD that she would tell my in-laws to give my children a hug and kiss from her and tell them that she loves them. MAD MAD MAD.

And MAD that what I really want to do, send her a scathing letter letting her know that I'm fully aware of her manipulative bullshit and that I WILL NOT TOLERATE IT, is exactly the kind of thing I should not do. Do not feed the trolls. DO NOT ENGAGE.

So tonight, because I'm so full of MAD, and unable to vent my spleen all over the person who most deserves it, I'm spewing it here, instead:

BACK OFF, BITCH. My children do not belong to you. *I* do not belong to you. We are not objects, we are not playthings at your disposal. If your grandchildren meant ANYTHING to you as people, as human beings in their own right, you would know that anybody who harms me has NO PLACE in their lives. And if they meant anything to you, you would be working your ass off, night and day, to try to figure out where you went wrong in our relationship and FIX IT. You would not be courting the sympathies of people who are much more important in my life and my children's lives than they are in yours.

My kids are amazing people. I'm an amazing person. And YOU SUCK for not knowing it.

2 comments:

Now what you call mad, I can "dress up" and call "righteous indignation." Doesn't really matter, it's all the same in the end. Mad is a wonderful motivator. Mad tells us when we've been transgressed-often egregiously and certainly repeatedly. Mad is a result of life-long maltreatment at the onus of a parent(s) who wasn't anything remotely close to the commonly accepted definition of the word. Mad that they don't give enough of a shit to genuinely attempt to heal the relationship. Mad that even as fully functional, autonomous adults we're STILL regarded as a "tool" for them to use/abuse at will and just because they can.....not to mention their demands (how the f dare they?) that we offer up our own children for more of the same.

About Claire

I'm a forty-year-old idealist, artist, mother of three children, and member of a long line of dysfunctional families headed by a narcissistic parent and an enabling spouse. My goal is to do my best to break the chain and create a healthier future for myself, my children, and my marriage. In wading through the unfamiliar territory of separating from the tribe of my birth and learning how to build my own, more loving tribe, I have discovered the importance of people telling their stories. These are my experiences as the adult child of a narcissist (ACON). I hope you'll share yours.

Unless noted, all photographs are mine. Please give photographers and artists credit for using their work!